James Meek's Guardian Weekend piece on borshch-belt politics, with its descriptions of several varieties of beetroot soup, made me think about my Russian-Jewish grandmother's borshch (though I think my family called it borscht). I never knew - or, for that matter, thought about - her recipe.

I know we ate it both hot and cold, and that it was always served with a boiled potato and soured cream. I can't actually remember whether the potato, which you put into the soup whole or in chunks, was hot or cold. But I can deduce from my memory of the soured cream that the soup was made without meat stock, as my grandmother kept (or at least attempted to keep) a kosher kitchen, so couldn't have served milk and meat at the same meal.

To be truthful (though it's heresy for a Jewish grandchild to confess this) neither of my grandmothers was much of a cook. We have borshch two or three times a year, and my own is incomparably better than (my memory of) my grandmother's. Actually, my borshch is not a recipe so much as a method.

Start with the best, strongest stock you have (in the freezer, in my case) - duck stock or, failing that, beef. Bring it to the boil in an enormous stockpot and add coarsely chopped vegetables. First, members of the onion family, including their clean skins - onions, shallots, leeks and a couple of cloves of garlic, as well as stray spring onion tops. Then celery. Then carrots and other root vegetables (except potatoes) - parsnips, swedes and turnips are very acceptable. Finally, the otherwise useless stems or parsley or dill can go in with half the quantity of beetroot you are planning to use.

Simmer all these until they look to you as though they've "given up their goodness" (in Grannyspeak) or until the beetroot has started to look dull. Strain off the liquid, and throw away the solids. Yes, I know that looks startling; and if your sense of parsimony is offended by this, stop right now, purée the most presentable veg, season, and serve the soup as is. But if you're a refined borshch maven, put the strained liquid (don't press it though a sieve, which will make it cloudy) into a clean saucepan, grate the remaining beetroot into it, and heat till warmed through. Then taste for salt and pepper, add red wine vinegar (industrial, unaged balsamic is perfect) to fix the colour and make the soup fruity and refreshingly acidic, and serve it hot or cold with a dollop of soured cream, crème fraîche or full-fat yoghurt, plus a sprinkling of fresh dill and chives.

Granny would probably freak, but does anybody else make clear borshch like this? Or do you prefer it thick or even chunky?